The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 282: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

all is right. You shall there sign your name in his book, so that he may know it, and then you will be satisfied, I presume?” “Yes, I should then.” “And this dream of leaving off business would vanish?” “Perhaps it would. But—but—” “But what?” “Why did you say to Brown that our union was to take place?” “Because it was necessary to say something, to account for the sudden withdrawal of the money; and surely I may be pardoned, charming Mrs. Lovett, for even in imagination dreaming, that so much beauty was mine.” The horrible leer with which Todd looked upon her at this moment made her shudder again; and the expression of palpable hatred and disgust that her countenance wore, added yet another, and not the least considerable, link to the chain of revenge which Todd cherished against her in his cruel and most secret heart. While he was philosophising about guilty associations producing a feeling of mutual distrust, he should have likewise added that they soon produce mutual hatred. For a few moments they looked at each other— that guilty pair—with expressions that sought to read each other’s souls; but they were both tolerable adepts in the art of dissimulation. The silence was the most awkward for Todd, so he broke it first by saying— “You are satisfied, let me hope?” “T will be.” “You shall be.” “Yes, when I have my money. Henceforward, Todd, we will have much shorter reckonings, so shall we keep much longer friends. If you keep, in some secret place, your half of the proceeds of our—our - “Business,” said Todd. Mrs. Lovett made a sort of gulp of the word, but she adopted it. “Tf you, I say, keep your half of the proceeds of our business, and I keep mine, I don’t see how it is possible for us to quarrel.” “Quite impossible.” He began to strop a razor diligently, and to try its edge across his thumbnail. Mrs. Lovett’s passion—that overwhelming passion which had induced her to enter Todd’s shop, and defy him to a species of single combat of wits had in a great measure subsided, giving place to a calmer and more reflective feeling. One of the results of that feeling was a self-question to the effect of, “What will be the result of an open quarrel with Todd?” Mrs. Lovett shook a little at the answer she felt forced to give herself to this question. That answer was continued in two words—mutual destruction! Yes, that would be the consequence. “Todd,” she said in a softened tone, “if I had forged your name, and gone to the city and possessed myself of all the money, what would you have thought? Tell me that.” “Just what you thought—that it was the most scandalous breach of faith that could possibly be; but an explanation ought to put that right.” “Tt has.” “Then you are satisfied?” “T am. At what time shall we go together, to-morrow morning, to Mr. Black’s in Abchurch Lane?” “Name your own time,” said Todd with the most assumed air in the world. “Black lives at Ballam Hill, and don’t get to business until ten; but any time after that will do.” “T will come here at ten, then.” “So be it. Ah, Mrs. Lovett, how charming it is to be able to explain away these little difficulties of sentiment. Never trust to appearances. How very deceitful they are apt to be.” There was an air of candour about Todd, that might have deceived the devil himself. Notwithstanding all his hideous ugliness— notwithstanding his voice was of the lowest order, and notwithstanding that frightful laugh, and that obliquity of vision that seemed peculiar to himself in its terrible malignancy, there was a plausibility about his manner, when he pleased, that was truly astonishing. Even Mrs. Lovett, with all her knowledge of the man, felt that it was a hard struggle to disbelieve his representations. What must it have been to those who knew him not? “No,” said Mrs. Lovett, “it don’t do to trust to appearances.” She still held the iron in her hand. “Nor,” added Todd, giving the razor he had been putting an edge to, a flourish, “nor will it do to listen always to the dictates of compassion; for if we did, what miseries might we inflict upon ourselves. Now, here is a cure in point.” “Where?” “T allude to this little affair between us. If you had flown to Bow Street, and there, to spite me, made a full disclosure of certain little facts, why, the result would have been that we might both have slept in Newgate® to-night.” “Yes, yes.” “And then there would have been no recall. You could not have freed us by telling the police that you had made a mistake. Then the gallows would have risen up in our dreams.” “Horrible!” “And it being easily discovered that it was no love of public justice or feeling of remorse, that induced you to the betrayal, they CORniclooo S CO)